


Lest There Be Dragons

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Cami</p><p>Once upon a time a powerful ruler had the means and opportunity to create her dearest fantasy. But below the elegant castle that houses her liege lords lies a dungeon with political prisoners who might hold the key to numerous mysteries. Bittersweet ending in my opinion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lest There Be Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
> Previously published in Zen and the Art of Rebellion 2

//Once upon a time there was a beautiful ruler. She had power and wealth, but happiness eluded her. So she built a private refuge and filled it with splendorous things. Then she selected the two most fascinating men in the known universe to be her companions. They should have lived happily ever after...//

Relaxing in the elegant comfort of his tower room, the Lord Avon wasn't immediately aware of the stirrings in the castle below. It was only when he set aside his reading to pour a glass of wine that he noticed the soft hum drifting up the curving staircase. There could be only one reason for the end of the languid, complacent days when you could hear a pin drop on the weathered wood floor--the Queen was in residence.

A tingling shivered through Avon's nerve endings in response to the return of the Queen. It wasn't a particularly pleasurable sensation, more a mix of excitement and fear. The excitement, he could understand. The castle was a lifeless hulk when the Queen was absent; a perfect place for concentrated research but...lonely. Almost too lonely--even for someone like himself who preferred a solitary existence.

The cause of his fear was not so obvious. It was a fleeting whimsy that could be likened to a vague whisper on the wind or a drift of vapor on an otherwise cloudless day--there without rhyme or reason.

Pushing aside the puzzle, Avon set his mind to the more practical matter of sorting through his wardrobe. He would dine with the Queen tonight, as he did whenever she was in the castle, and he must needs dress in full court regalia for the occasion. Studies and wine forgotten, he strode purposefully into the large closet where his garments were stored. There were all manners of styles and fabrics, the finest of cloths, decorated with jewels and thin threads of silver and gold.

He fingered the simple white tunic with the family Avon crest embroidered on its chest. It was one of her favorites. Should he please her this night? Or should he wear the somber black that she said made her nervous? He wasn't sure if she was serious or teasing when she voiced that claim. Why would the colors of his clothes upset the Queen?

It had been almost two weeks since he had seen his monarch. Avon had missed her, a little, and that decided him on the white tunic. Calling for his personal squire, he directed the man to draw a bath. There was soon a welcoming cloud of steam wafting from the cleansing chamber. Slipping out of his comfortable room togs a small smile tugged at Avon's lips. The Queen was in residence!

#

Entering the great hall, Avon nodded approval at the gracious table setting, where freshly-polished metal goblets gleamed in the soft light. The scent of fresh-cut flowers mingled with the more robust fragrance from the mulled wine simmering on the sideboard. Avon helped himself to a cup while trying not to grow annoyed at the one irritation in the otherwise perfect dinner arrangement. There were places set for three--the boy must have returned as well. Had he been with the Queen then, these past five days when his tall, thin shadow had been absent from the castle?

Avon preferred the Queen to him, though the boy was hardly more than a garish ornament, normally as unobtrusive as the flickering candle flames. He usually sat quietly through the meal, allowing the other two to carry the conversation. Occasionally, he would address a simplistic remark to the Queen, but rarely did he speak directly to Avon. Avon had judged that fitting, or as the Queen was like to proclaim, "The way things are."

That was one of her favorite sayings; she used the phrase to explain all manner of idiosyncratic royal decrees. For instance, Avon had once questioned her about the strange accessory that all of the serving class (footmen, cooks, ladies-in-waiting, squires, etc.) wore. It was a black belt with an odd type of scabbard dangling from one side. Now, if the leather had held a dagger or a sword, Avon might have understood its purpose, but the bulky metal object it housed didn't seem to have a practical purpose, and it certainly wasn't aesthetically pleasing.

The Queen had patiently listened to Avon's perplexity regarding the belts then had blithely answered, "That's not for you to mind. It is simply the way things are."

"The way things are," Avon quoted in a soft whisper as a servant entered the room. His face lit when he saw the gaily wrapped packages in the man's arms. The footman deposited a half dozen of them at Avon's place, then moved towards the other side of the table. Avon's smile turned sour as the remainder were set by the boy's utensils. It was hardly fair that he should be getting gifts when he had also had the luxury of a trip away from the castle.

Padded footsteps sounded behind him and Avon turned to see the object of his aggravation walking into the room. "Good evening, Lord Avon," the boy greeted. Avon ignored him.

The Lord Tarrant wasn't really a boy in the strictest sense of the word. He was physically mature...and fully functional if Avon's suspicions were correct. But there was an air of childish innocence about him that made him seem even younger than his admittedly youthful years.

Avon grimaced with distaste as the boy all but pounced on his stack of presents, handling each as if he was trying to guess at its contents. It made Avon a bit embarrassed about his own eager reaction on seeing the packages. He'd have to remember to keep his emotions under tight control if he didn't want to appear the simpering child that the boy now resembled.

"I love gifts," Tarrant declared ingenuously, looking shyly to where Avon stood frowning. It was then that Avon noted the paleness of the youth's face the blue smudges about his eyes. Before he could speculate on their cause, a soft trumpeting sounded.

He pivoted about and assumed a dignified stance as the Queen glided across the marble floor. She wore an unpretentious white gown that flattered her perfect figure and blended with her alabaster skin. The only colors one saw were the gleaming cap of ebony hair, golden eyes, rouged cheeks, and scarlet lips. It was simplistic perfection.

"Lord Avon." She extended an elegant hand. Avon bent to one knee and brushed his lips across it. "You may stand. Have you missed me?"

"As the summer day is long, my liege."

A soft laugh twinkled from her throat. "That is delightful. You've been reading the books that I got for you."

Avon shrugged. "They were all that I had for company during your long absence."

"Even better," she approved. "And Lord Tarrant..." She reached her hand to the boy, who swept gracefully down, his long limbs cooperative and obedient.

"I've missed you, my regal lady," he mumbled dutifully. So they hadn't been together, Avon determined with unrestrained satisfaction. He need not begrudge the boy his presents after all.

The meal proceeded with pomp and circumstance. Dishes were served, consumed, and replaced with additional courses. Though enchanted by the Queen and her lively wit, Avon wasn't so preoccupied that he didn't notice that their dinner companion was barely picking at his food, which he normally attacked with gusto. Perhaps he had a touch of the flu? That would account for his blanched complexion and his lack of appetite.

When the dessert plates had been removed, the Queen asked, "Would you like to open your present now?"

Tarrant tore into his before the echo of her last word faded from the chamber. He pulled a gold circlet from the first box. It was some sort of head adornment, with three gleaming stones that would rest in the middle of his forehead when he put it on. The center one was a huge rectangular sapphire that matched his eyes. It was flanked on either side by rubies of the deepest red. "It's beautiful," he whispered.

The Queen smiled indulgently at the youth. "Try it on." Tarrant eased it onto his head and fluffed his copper-colored curls about it. Avon couldn't help feeling a small stab of jealousy at the boy's resulting appearance. He was fair of face to begin with, and the jewels seemed to emphasize the sparkle of his eyes, the glinting highlights in his hair.

Resolutely, Avon turned to his own gifts, steadfastly ignoring the crinkling of paper, the "oohs" and "ahs" from the other side of the table. The first object was a set of book tapes on the Norman conquest. He was momentarily mollified since the Queen had remembered his brief mention of interest in that. The second gift was even more impressive. Avon ran his hands over the rich leather binding of a real book.

"You like that," the Queen noted, sounding pleased.

"Yes, Your Majesty." She well knew how he treasured his meager collection of print books. They were rare and extremely valuable. According to the Queen, most books were in museums or public collections. Seldom did an individual citizen own one. Avon had twelve...thirteen now.

"Would you like me to play for you?" Tarrant asked, having long since finished displaying his stack of gifts.

The Queen turned back to face the younger man. "Not tonight. You need your rest." He looked disappointed, his stringed instrument drooping in his hands. She noticed and added, "But I shall stop by later to say goodnight. Wear the turquoise loungers for me. I'm curious to see what they look like on you. Now get to bed."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the boy said, flashing his brilliant smile that set Avon's teeth on edge.

Tarrant gathered his presents in his arms, and Avon saw the shimmering green-blue material that could only be the pajamas that the Queen had referred to. She never came to say goodnight to him!

"You look disgruntled," the Queen surmised as Avon's eyes followed the boy from the room. "Let me guess. You're jealous."

"Why should I be?" Avon shot back, disturbed that she could so easily read his emotions.

"You shouldn't," she said, resting her hand on his wrist. "You wouldn't want presents of trinkets, toys or silk." She put her other hand on his gifts. "It's knowledge that you want. And that's what I've given you."

That was true enough. Avon smiled wryly. The Queen never failed to amuse him; she was so perceptive, a royal monarch who could never be equaled. And he wasn't truly envious of the boy, even if he did share her bed (though he was obviously beneath her), because Avon didn't want that kind of relationship with the Queen. If truth be told, he wasn't at all physically drawn to her, despite her flawless beauty. It was her mind that he coveted. He wanted to suck out its seemingly limitless knowledge and make it his own. He found his face relaxing and his lips spreading in a genuine smile.

"There, that's better," the Queen approved. "Now come, Lord Avon, for you have another gift. The servants have been installing it in your quarters while we dined."

He followed her up the narrow, twisting staircase, marvelling at how easily she managed the route, despite long gown and stilted heels.

The present was sitting on his desk. He had no idea what it was--nothing he'd ever seen before. Curious, he brushed a hand over a rectangle that was covered with little buttons marked with letters, numbers and symbols.

"It is a computer," the Queen explained.

"I've never heard of that." Avon bit back his disappointment at the rather inexplicable gift.

"Not in this life." Her voice was wistful. "But you will come to cherish it. I promise you that."

#

Avon wrapped his pale suede cloak tight over his brocade vest. The wind was brisk across the battlements this afternoon, but he was enjoying the fresh air. Next to him, the Queen was laughing softly as Tarrant tried to sail a folded piece of stiff paper into the countryside. It kept floating back to him no matter how hard he threw it.

"I'm afraid you'll have to save your toy for another day," the Queen said, "unless you walk to the west side where the breeze is blowing away from the castle."

"I can wait." He let his hand drop to his side and met her eyes. "I was wondering, Your Majesty..."

"Go on," she urged when Tarrant hesitated.

"What is the name of your country? I've been reading of queens and their lands. Catherine the Great, Queen of Russia. And Elizabeth of England, Mary of Scotland. What do you rule?"

"Those queens," she said, "were in the long ago past. Their queendoms were minuscule compared to mine."

"But what is yours called?" he prodded.

She thought a moment then answered, "I am Queen of the Universe. I am more powerful than all of the ancient queens put together. At the snap of my fingers, I can order the destruction of an entire planet." Her voice softened, "Or I can create a world of my own fantasy."

"Oh." Tarrant's eyes were confused. Avon felt a moment of pity for him as he went back to trying to launch his paper construct.

"I want this to be free," Tarrant said, disappointed, when his efforts continued to fail.

"I told you..." the Queen began, then sighed and shook her head. "What else is bothering you?" she asked him, showing the same depth of perception that made Avon think she could sometimes read his mind.

Tarrant glanced timidly at her. "Will I ever be free? How can  _I_  leave the castle?"

"Is it so terrible here?" she asked gently.

"No...no... but..."

"You needn't say more." Her hand reached out to drift down the length of cheek. "I'll answer your question, Lord Tarrant. You may leave the castle when the dragon is slain."

His eyes went large with disbelief. "Are there dragons in our land?"

"You used to slay them."

"I did?" Distracted, Tarrant began to jog along the wall walk, pausing every ten feet or so to peer over the side to the moat below. Looking for dragons?

"There is something I don't understand," Avon said slowly when the boy was out of hearing range.

"And that is?" Her tone was brisker with him than with Tarrant; her mouth curled with amusement rather than indulgence.

"What he said about leaving the castle--he just returned from a trip."

"He was ill and doesn't remember that." Her eyes filled with a sadness that melted through Avon's well-maintained reserve. The Queen rarely showed vulnerability. "It's best that he doesn't know. I'm afraid that he still isn't well. He shouldn't even be thinking of..." Abruptly, she cut off the words. "It doesn't matter." She eyed him sharply. "Tell me, Lord Avon, do you want to leave the castle?"

"Only if it meant more time to be spent with you," he replied gallantly. "You are all that matters to me, my lady Queen."

"Now that is the right answer. If I only knew whether you were serious or merely flattering."

"Would I lie to my monarch?" he asked playfully. "I don't know and that is one of the things that makes you so very fascinating."

More fascinating than the b-- Lord Tarrant?"

"You fret too much over Tarrant," the Queen admonished. "He is not your rival. However, I suppose it is only natural for you to think that. There are only the two of you for now."

"The servants..."

"They would never be your rivals."

"That's true enough," he agreed without boast. They were mindless, obedient creatures, not-quite human. There was no sense of life or emotion in their demeanor; no sign of amusement or distress.

"You and Tarrant are as night and day," she continued. "And both very important to me. He is my...my devoted admirer. And you are my intellectual tempest." The Queen paced briefly and thoughtfully, then confessed, "All of my power wasn't enough to give me exactly what I wanted. My physicians could only manage devotion or intellect. I wanted both. Are you pleased that you received intellect, Lord Avon?"

A coldness, not caused by the wind, bore into Avon's spine. It was at moments like this that the fear he felt in the Queen's presence seemed reasonable and natural. She spoke as if she could bend a man to her desires. And Avon was reminded of the blankness in his past. He could remember his time at the castle, which had only been a matter of months, but nothing before that. Usually, his limited memories didn't bother him, and he didn't understand that either. Everyone had a past, didn't they?

"You don't look relieved," the Queen chided, misreading him for once. "Let me show you why Tarrant shouldn't concern you. "Tarrant," she called, raising her voice. He loped back along the stone flooring. "Get me one of your books."

"Which one?"

"Any, a favorite."

Avon stayed silent until the younger man returned. He handed a book tape in a display unit to the Queen. She nodded that he should give it to Avon instead. Dutifully, Avon took it and browsed through the pages. The print was large and the vocabulary simple. Moreover, there were pictures distracting from the text. They were beautiful to be sure, but a waste of space.

"It's a child's book," the Queen explained. "That's all he can manage."

Avon handed Tarrant back his viewer while his mind swirled in a confusion of thoughts. //Devotion or intellect?// There were so many things the he didn't understand. Perhaps his new computer would have the answers.

#

Avon's mood lightened by dinner. He was fully prepared to enjoy the Queen's company. Even the presence of the silent, young popinjay in all of his finery couldn't spoil his cheer. Avon and the Queen argued genially over the proper use of catapults during a siege, finally agreeing to disagree.

"You know," the Queen concluded, "my commanders tell me that military strategy hasn't really changed since those ancient times. I'm not sure that I believe them."

"More wine?" Avon held out a flask.

"Yes, though I shouldn't. I have to be up early tomorrow."

"You're leaving again?" Tarrant asked woefully.

"I'm afraid I must."

"But you just returned home," he protested. "It's boring when you're away."

"It shan't always be that way," she promised. "I have plans to fill our retreat with gaiety and laughter. We will hold court with all the splendor of the past. There will be balls and galas."

"Parties," Tarrant translated, his face brightening.

"The most wonderful of parties as soon as my phy... advisors pronounced the situation here... stable." She shared a smile with both of them. "Will you like that?"

"Of course, my Queen," Tarrant said eagerly.

"As long as it is not too distracting from my work," Avon qualified.

The Queen patted his hand. "My too somber Lord Avon. It is so hard to get a smile from you."

"A gift rarely given is all the more valuable."

"Pretty words," she approved. "I am the most fortunate of queens to have such gallant subjects. Now, perhaps Lord Tarrant will sing and play for us. It will help me relax for an early bed."

The boy's voice was as fair as his form, and the simple stringed instrument complemented it well. Avon quite enjoyed the entertainment. He went to bed almost content.

#

A restlessness grew in Avon during the days following the Queen's departure. He found himself prowling the castle and ignoring his research, and he wasn't sure why. It was his habit to take solitary meals in his room unless the Queen was in residence, but now he ate in the cavernous hall--alone. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Finally, Avon questioned a high-ranking servant about him and was informed that Lord Tarrant was away on a trip. The news didn't bring the expected wave of jealousy; instead, an inexplicable pang of pity for the boy tugged at Avon's conscience.

On the third day, Tarrant was at the table when Avon arrived. He looked lethargic and was even quieter than normal, not greeting Avon. Halfway through the meal, his squire led him away. Tarrant didn't even question being ordered about by his serving man.

Avon paced his room late into the night, trying to fit together pieces of what seemed like a dozen different puzzles. It was as if his mind refused to focus on a question, so an answer was unattainable. The only conclusion that he managed in the dark, midnight hours was that the boy was an important clue to finding a solution. It was his absence, not the Queen's, that made him jittery. And perhaps his return would help solve the mystery and allow Avon to return his attention to his studies.

The next morning Avon sought out his young fellow lord. Tarrant's quarters were in the east wing at the end of a long passage where artifacts were displayed. The walls were rife with tapestry, shields, and weaponry.

The boy's squire admitted him to a spacious sitting room, fully three times larger than his own. Avon found it impressive but, on consideration, wouldn't have traded the privacy of his tower for the expanded accommodations.

"He's still in bed," the servant reported, returning from the inner chamber, "but said for you to go in. I'm fetching his breakfast. May I get something for you?"

"Why not?" Avon said with a lift of his eyebrow. "Breakfast would not be amiss." He waited until the man had left on his errand before venturing into Tarrant's bedroom.

"Lord Avon." Tarrant was sitting up in bed, revealing the upper half of a satin sleep outfit. It was midnight blue with a diagonal pink band running across it. Avon wondered how many foppish loungers were part of his wardrobe.

Now that he was here, Avon didn't have the faintest idea what to say. He covered his confusion by asking, "How are you feeling? You didn't look well at dinner last evening."

Tarrant appeared surprised at the question, as well he might. Avon had never indicated any concern for him in the past. In fact, this rather unprecedented visit alone had probably thrown him off balance. Ruffling a hand through his hair, the boy finally answered, "I'm better this morning. I think I had too much to drink yesterday, that's all."

"Indeed? Your trip must have been enjoyable then."

"Trip? It's the Queen who is away. She's only been gone a day and I already miss her," he said. "But why would you think that I went somewhere?"

So, Avon reasoned, not only wasn't Tarrant aware of being gone, he'd lost two whole days. That increased the apprehension that had been building in Avon. "I remembered your desire to travel into the outside world. When I didn't see you around yesterday, I thought you might have managed a day's excursion somewhere."

Tarrant's obvious puzzlement deepened. "You are confusing me. I don't want to leave the castle. Why should I? I have everything here. The Queen is most kind and generous."

"That she is." Avon swallowed hard. Tarrant's declaration was far different from his yearnings on the castle wall. Bracing himself, Avon forced out words that caused a painful tightening in his chest. "However, as pleasant as our life is, I do enjoy my occasional jaunts to other places. Even the Garden of Eden can grow boring."

"I don't think so," the boy said with a shrug. "But I suppose you'd need more variety than I do. You...you're very bright. Though you don't travel all that much. Just twice since I've been here. So you can't find the castle too confining."

Avon spun swiftly about and went to study the view from one of the windows, not wanting the boy to see that the blood had drained from his face. His brooding suspicions had been confirmed. Like Tarrant, he had no memory of time spent away from the castle. Whatever was happening, was happening to both of them. "Tell me," he quested over his shoulder, "do I look rather worn after my vacations?"

"Oh, yes," Tarrant confirmed cheerfully. "You are quite the dullard. Why, one time, I even knew the answer to the Queen's question before you did." He sighed heavily. "I don't suppose that will ever happen again."

There was a silence as Avon's concerns pressed in on him, causing the room to darken and blur. Then the boy spoke again, pulling him from the depths of chaos. "Why are you here?"

"That's a very good question," Avon said, turning around. He walked over and perched on the edge of Tarrant's rumpled bed that looked large enough for any three people. "I have discovered that things might not be as they seem. Have you ever considered that we might be prisoners here?"

A myriad of emotions flickered across Tarrant's face: shock, disbelief, curiosity, then finally mirth. He chuckled. "You are teasing me, of course. If we were prisoners, we'd be held in a dungeon."

"Dungeon?"

"Yes. All castles have them." He hopped agilely out of bed and began rummaging through a jumble of booktapes on a shelf. "Let me show you," he offered, inserting one of the tapes into the viewer. Sitting next to Avon so they both could see, he began flipping through the screens.

"There." Tarrant pointed as pictures of castles were displayed, followed by blueprints for the structures. "Each one has a dungeon. Most of them are in the lower levels, but...." he scanned over several pages before stopping, "this one is called the Tower of London. Sometimes prisoners were kept in its tower rooms. Perhaps that is why you think you might be in a prison. Your rooms are in a tower."

"No."

"But there would be guards," Tarrant chattered on, "which there aren't." He seemed quite pleased that he'd found a subject that he knew more about than Avon. It had loosened his normally still tongue. "Besides," he concluded, "if you were a prisoner, you'd be in our dungeon and not in what I'm sure are a very fine set of rooms."

"I don't recall a dungeon in our castle," Avon said slowly. The Queen had brought him on a tour soon after he'd... arrived. Awakened? Of course, that had only included the part of the castle that housed the nobility. He hadn't seen any of the service areas or quarters.

"We have one. I'm almost sure." Tarrant set the tape viewer aside and crossed his very long legs. "I've explored the castle when the Queen is away. If you go through the kitchens, there's a passage leading downward. It was dark and cold. Where the sloping tunnel evened out, I was stopped by two men. They told me I wasn't allowed to go any further. They were the guards, of course."

"You think? But why would there needs be guards unless there was something to guard?"

"You're right," Tarrant exclaimed, a note of excitement creeping into his voice. "There would have to be a prisoner or prisoners, some enemy of the Queen's. That's wonderful news." He popped up and started across the room. Halfway, he glanced back and paused to meet Avon's eyes with his own very hesitant ones. "Could you keep a secret?" he asked cautiously.

"I suppose."

Tarrant didn't look like he entirely trusted him, but he also looked about to burst with his "secret." Finally he nodded and went to where a scarlet cloak hung on a hook set into the wall. Secreted in its voluminous folds was a large sword. Avon guessed that it had originally decorated the passage outside and had been removed without permission. The boy pulled it free, then went over and carefully locked the door to the outer room.

"That's quite a wicked blade," Avon noted as Tarrant swung the heavy sword around. "You'd better put it away."

"I want to be the Queen's champion," Tarrant said, obediently sliding the weapon back on the hook and furling the cloak over it. "She asked me what present I would like this time. I requested a sword and lessons." He slumped dejectedly. "She laughed when I told her why."

"Perhaps she'll still buy you a sword," Avon said sympathetically. "She seems very fond of you."

"Fond," Tarrant scoffed. "She calls me decorative and says she likes me that way. I want to be more than decorative. Once... once, when she was in a strange mood, she told me that I used to be both decorative and resourceful. What's resourceful, Lord Avon, and why aren't I resourceful anymore?" Before Avon could think of an answer, the boy rushed on. "Do you remember... on the ramparts... she said that I slayed dragons. I think I like the old me better than what I am now. Some days, I don't know who I am."

And that so exactly mirrored what Avon felt about himself that he found he couldn't speak. The confusion that had been tickling at him expanded into a fiery pain that threatened to engulf him. Fortunately, before Tarrant could notice his distress, there was the sound of someone trying to open the door. The boy hurried over to release the lock.

It was Tarrant's squire, back, followed by three of the kitchen staff bearing trays of food. "I've brought your breakfast, my lords."

"Put it on the table in the sitting room," Tarrant directed.

"And then leave us alone," Avon added, finding a faint voice. "We'll call if we require anything else."

"I didn't know you were eating with me," Tarrant said, suddenly sounding very vulnerable. "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you my secrets. I hardly know you."

"I'm not even sure that is true anymore," Avon murmured. "But we do need to know each other better now. We are going to have to work together if we have any hope of muddling our way to the truth."

Sitting at the breakfast table, a thought bubbled up from the recesses of his subconscious, prompting Avon to grab Tarrant's hand as he picked up a large glass of juice. "Don't drink that."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure," Avon said, not willing to admit that his decision was based on the vaguest snatch of memory from a befuddled dream. "However, I think it's important. I'd like for neither of us to drink anything, as an experiment. There are cisterns that catch rain for watering the garden. We'll only drink from those. It might help you find that past self who resourcefully slayed dragons."

"Not even wine?"

"No wine." His dream self had only caught a fragmented portion of the pertinent dialogue: //...reinforcement drugs, don't drink...//

Tarrant grimaced but nodded. "Shall I call the servants to take the juice away and get us some rain water?"

"No," Avon snapped, a tad more harshly than he intended. The extent of Tarrant's naivety, while not unexpected, had caught him momentarily off guard. "This will be another secret. Just between the two of us. I shall dispose of enough of whatever beverages they serve us so that they don't know what we're doing."

#

Avon was justifiably proud of his decision to avoid any drinks supplied by the servants. Within days, he felt like a new man. His mind was clearer, his body more energetic. And he noticed an even bigger difference in Tarrant. The boy wasn't the complete idiot that Avon had believed him to be.

Still, Avon was careful to frequently remind Tarrant of the need for secrecy. Despite his improved comprehension, he was still such a child. There was always the chance that he'd accidentally blurt out something to the wrong person. And, in Avon's mind, everyone else in the castle was suspect. They had to be involved in whatever conspiracy existed. He emphasized the need for discretion as Tarrant carried out his assigned task, which was to find out as much as he could about the dungeon area he'd discovered, then to report back to Avon.

Meanwhile, Avon began his own study of several inconsistencies that had come to light as his mind had shed the cloak of lethargy. They were living in a feudal castle, yet it wasn't authentic. After careful research, using his books, tapes, and computer as well as Tarrant's picture books, he confirmed that castles were rather uncomfortable places to live. Someone had updated this castle to eliminate those shortcomings. The rooms were well insulated and heated by some central system rather than fireplaces. Glass covered every opening to the outside, even the arrow loops, indicating that they were strictly ornamental as opposed to functional. The most conspicuous improvements were in the cleansing chambers, which were thankfully far different from the garderobes described in the books.

First question: Why build a facsimile of a castle? Answer--to live a fantasy without denying luxury. Second question: Who? Another obvious answer--the Queen. She was the only one with sufficient power and wealth, and she had as much as admitted to a fantasy world that day on the castle wall. Which meant that he and Tarrant were part of her fantasy. After that, he drew a blank.

If the castle wasn't real, what was? There were huge gaps in his knowledge that none of his data sources could fill. Though he had a thorough history of everything through medieval times, things grew sketchy after that. Obviously, some time had passed; great inventions had to account for the energy powering the castle, and the computer. But the Queen hadn't provided anything detailing that. It was as if she wanted this world to replicate an older era as much as possible.

Frustrated, Avon cursed himself for not being more observant and asking more questions of the Queen. He had allowed her to direct their conversations. And though he'd found much of interest in the crusades and various conquests, none of it helped him solve his current dilemma. Who was he? Why was he?

One thing he had deduced. The strange contraptions worn by all of the staff were weapons. He was sure of it and felt stupid for not having determined that earlier. He'd even likened the leather pouch to a scabbard! It meant that there was possibly danger involved in his investigation, but that didn't persuade him to stop.

#

Tarrant perched on the windowsill, enjoying the panoramic view from Avon's tower. "I can see why you like it up here," he said, "though the stairs are enough to wear a body out."

"Your young body should have no problem if my rather old one can manage."

"You aren't old," the boy protested, hopping down. "That's kind of you to say, but I must admit that it has been rather disconcerting facing you over dinner all these months. You are young and handsome. Those curls should be against the law."

"My hair?" Tarrant smoothed his hand over it and laughed. "You're jealous of my hair, and here I've been jealous of yours all this time. It's so shiny and smooth. This is a tangled mess. I daren't wear it long like yours or a bird is apt to take up residence in it."

Avon felt his ego puff a bit. It allowed him to further confess, "You are also upsettingly tall and graceful."

"Well, you're smart," Tarrant countered.

Spontaneous laughter bubbled free from both of them. Avon controlled his enough to ask, "How did we get into this battle, each trying to prove the other superior?"

The boy smiled wistfully. "I don't know. I suppose because it isn't distressing, like some other things."

"Then you admit that we might not have control over our destinies?"

"Perhaps," the young man said warily, "but I don't believe the Queen would do anything to harm us. There must be a reason for this...pretense."

"You are very naive, but I don't think you are quite as stupid as I once believed."

"You've helped me to learn," Tarrant admitted, "but it hasn't been easy." He tapped at his head. "It's as if something in here is resisting."

Avon felt the depression seeping back in. He was sure that they had been tampered with, and there was no way of knowing to what degree. They had been violated and there was no assurance that what had been done could be undone. It almost made him wish that he had never chanced to question their existence. Perhaps life would have been easier, living the Queen's fantasy.

As if he had picked up on Avon's thoughts, Tarrant asked, "What will we do when the Queen returns?"

"We won't let her know of our suspicions," Avon said firmly. "Try to drink as little as possible. Probably the wine is safer than the water or the juices. She drinks from the same carafe as we do."

"I'm not sure I can manage to fool her." Tarrant's eyes dropped to his lap. "We...we've been intimate."

"I guessed as much. Do your best. Flash those teeth and she won't be capable of concentrating on anything else."

Tarrant's face tilted up at that, spread wide with an irritating grin. "If you make another remark about my smile or my curls," he threatened teasingly, "I shall probably have to throttle your frail, old body."

"Then I shall have to curb my tongue," Avon retorted with equal mocking. Growing serious, he asked, "What have you learned about this so-called dungeon?"

"Not much. I can't linger near that area too often or someone will wonder why. Twice, I've seen trays of food carried into the tunnel."

"I'd say that was pretty conclusive evidence that people are down there. People who aren't permitted to come upstairs for meals."

"True, but what does it matter. How can a prisoner help us? Anyone in the dungeon would be in a worse position than we are."

"Possibly...." Avon stood up. "I'd like to try an experiment. Come along." He grabbed Tarrant's hand and pulled him toward the door.

The inner courtyard was rather more opulent than the castles in Tarrant's picture books. There were flowers, trees and a soft layering of grass.

"Where are we going?" Tarrant asked.

"We are going to the gate, where we'll request that they lower the drawbridge."

"Why?"

"Because we'd like to take a walk in the countryside."

"I don't want to walk in the countryside," the boy protested with a shudder. "Avon, please..."

Avon shushed his next comment as they approached the man on duty. "Open the gate and put down the drawbridge," he ordered in his most imperious voice.

"That is not permitted."

"I am the Lord Avon. Aren't you required to obey me?"

"Only when it does not contradict rules set down by the Queen."

"Then I suppose we will have to wait and make the request of her first," Avon said genially. He took the boy's arm and turned him around. "Isn't that right, Lord Tarrant?"

"Yes," the young man answered uncertainly. A few steps further he hissed, "What was that all about?"

"To prove that we are prisoners. So whoever is in the dungeon is on our side."

"I'm afraid I can't keep up with your lightning logic," Tarrant said with a wry smile. "But I'm sure you'll explain."

#

Finding a way into the dungeon area seemed an insurmountable problem at first. No doubt the guards there would turn them away as surely as the one at the gate. And forcing the issue against armed soldiers didn't appeal. Besides which, that would give away their suspicions. Avon had about run out of ideas when Tarrant contributed, "I suppose one of us could distract them while the other slipped by."

"It sounds too simple," Avon said.

"I haven't heard you come up with better. And digging our way through the solid rock walls might take a lifetime."

"How would you distract them?" Avon asked, assuming that would be Tarrant's job.

Tarrant widened his mouth disarmingly. "I could smile," he teased.

"That would only work if they were women," Avon retorted.

"Oh, I don't know about that," the young man said, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes growing even brighter.

"They are sexless, all of them," Avon pointed out, wondering where that thought had come from."Now get serious."

"All right." Tarrant took a turn about the circular tower room, his fingers tapping together. "They have a room, off to the side, where they often rest. If I could get them in there on some pretext, the way would be clear."

"I'd need enough time to get in and out."

"A very time-consuming pretext," Tarrant amended. "I suppose I could fake a stomach cramp. And I'd have to sit down. I'll go rubbery so they'll both have to help me walk." He winked. "It helps that I have this very tall body. One person alone couldn't manage to support it."

"Very well," Avon agreed, not at all satisfied with the scheme, but it did seem the best available.

It worked better than either of them could have hoped. Hearing Tarrant's whimpered moans, Avon was sure he'd have made a great actor.

The dungeon did not in the least resemble the dark regions pictured in books. It was brightly lit with smooth walls of a substance other than the castle rock. Avon made his way along until he came to the end of the passage. In front of him was a door and a monitor, not unlike the one on his computer. He reached out a hand and flicked on the screen. A picture formed of a small room. The room beyond the door? There were four people in the room, two men and two women. As Avon searched their faces for familiarity, the larger of the two men turned to face him.

"What do you..." the man's words cut off. "Avon." Avon determined that his activating the screen had triggered a reciprocal device in the room he was viewing. Apparently they were looking at him and...they knew him. All of them were facing him now, their expressions a mixture of recognition, surprise and disbelief.

"Avon, you bastard," the smaller man said, "what took you so long?"

"Unlock the door," the blonde woman directed. "I don't know how," he said.

"Don't know how?" That was the smaller man again. "Now I know you're not the lockpick that I am, but it should be simple enough when you're on the outside."

"Don't know how or don't want to?" the larger, curly-haired man growled. He flicked a glance at his companions. "As you'll recall, he shot me the last time we met. And he didn't treat the three of you much better from what you've said."

"It was either his life or mine on the shuttle," the other man amended, sounding uncertain and confused. "It wasn't like he was trying to kill me on a whim."

"Avon," the dark, youngest woman said boldly. "Have you switched sides? Are you working for her?"

"For whom?"

"That bitch, Servalan, of course."

Avon puzzled over the name a minute. "I don't know any Servalan."

"He is working for her," the blonde hissed. "Listen to him cover for her." Her eyes burned angrily out of the monitor. "What name is she using these days, Avon? Still Sleer?"

"Sleer is not familiar to me either," he said, finding that their hostility was making him angry. He wanted to blank the screen and end the conversation, but that would defeat the purpose of his coming here. "I don't have much time," he told them. "I can't expect Tarrant to keep..."

"Tarrant's alive?" the girl interrupted. She sounded relieved.

"Yes. Have you a quarrel with him?"

"That depends," the forceful, leader type hedged, "on why he's on that side of the door with you while the rest of us are locked up in here."

"Why do you think?" Avon asked, trying to coax information from them without giving any in return.

"The most plausible explanation is that you've both changed sides."

"Blake's right," the mousey man said. "It isn't like the two of them could ever be trusted with her. We know what happened on Virn."

"Are you sure you know what happened there?" Avon prodded. The dark girl snorted. "Tarrant slept with the bitch; he admitted it. Or was it something more? Did he form an alliance with her then as well?"

"Dayna, calm down," the blonde advised. "We all need to calm down." She faced the screen again. "Are you going to release us or have you come here to gloat?"

"As I said, I don't know how to operate the door. It is rather complex." There wasn't even a handle to grasp, just the outline of a door that was as smooth as a wall.

"Complex." The one called Blake laughed. "Too complex for the foremost computer genius in the galaxy?"

"At the moment." //Foremost computer genius in the galaxy? // Avon tucked that away for future consideration. "But I haven't come here to gloat either."

"Then why have you come?" Dayna asked, her eyes filling with tears. "It's enough that she taunts us that we'll spend the rest of our lives here. She...she said it was the worst punishment that she could think of. Death was too quick."

The blonde woman put an arm around Dayna's shoulders and led the trembling girl to one of the bunks.

"I'm...that is Tarrant and I are prisoners too," Avon finally admitted, genuinely upset by the girl's distress. "But perhaps we can figure out a way to free all of us. I have to go now. I'm not sure when I can get back."

"Avon, wait..." Blake's eyes were the last thing that Avon saw before he darkened the screen.

Quaking slightly, Avon made his way back along the passage. Voices came from the guard room. Forcing himself calm, he went to the open door and said, "Has anyone seen... Ah, Lord Tarrant, there you are." To the guards, he added, "The boy had too much to drink and I've been trying to track him down."

"He appeared to be ill," the taller man said. "We were about to summon help."

"No, he's just inebriated." Avon grabbed Tarrant's arm and hauled him to his feet.

"Wait," the guard said, concern evident in his voice. "We are responsible for your health and safety. The Queen would be very angry if anything happened to Lord Tarrant. I'm going to summon a higher authority."

"I believe  _I_  am a higher authority," Avon countered. He started for the door, Tarrant in tow. "I'll see he gets safely to his quarters."

In case anyone wanted to check that story, Avon led them to Tarrant's rooms. "Did you find anything?" the boy asked as the door closed behind them.

"Yes, but I'm not sure what." Avon took a chair and wished that he could indulge in a glass of wine. He still felt a trifle shaky. "There are four prisoners, two men and two women. They appear to know both of us."

"What did you learn about our pasts? What did they tell you?"

"Very little. I didn't explain the memory loss."

Tarrant bristled with annoyance. "Why not? Isn't that what this was all about?"

"I'm not sure we can trust them. They don't appear to trust us. Apparently, I tried to kill one or two of them, and you've managed your share of mischief as well. We aren't popular with the rabble."

"That should clear the Queen of suspicion. If these prisoners are our enemies, then she's protecting us by keeping them locked up. I knew she wasn't evil." He plopped on the floor in front of Avon's chair. "I think we should simply tell her of our confusion. There is no doubt a very reasonable explanation."

"If there is a reasonable explanation," Avon said, "why hasn't she given it already?"

"Hmm," Tarrant pondered a moment before answering. "You mentioned that she said I was ill. You don't suppose I have some fatal illness that she's keeping from me? Maybe the secrets are a balm. There was a story in one of my...."

"You are healthy enough," Avon said, cutting Tarrant off. He slumped lower in his chair, weary and discouraged. "I had hoped that we could have learned something from those prisoners. There has to be an answer somewhere."

Tarrant tapped his right index finger against his lower lip. "It seems to me," he reasoned, "that we are going to have to ask someone sooner or later, or we could grow old and gray trying to solve the puzzle."

"I'm not willing to risk a direct confrontation yet." While the memory was still fresh, Avon wrote down everything he could recall about his trip to the dungeon. Then he went over the information with Tarrant. Descriptions of the four prisoners didn't stir any of his lost memories.

"Were the women pretty?" the boy asked. "You didn't say."

"Very attractive, each in her own way."

"As beautiful as the Queen?"

"Younger...not as poised or elegant. You really can't compare such different types. Tell me, do the names Servalan or Sleer mean anything to you?"

"I've heard Servalan...President Servalan, but I can't remember where or when."

"President sounds more like a title than a first name."

"I'm sorry I can't be more help. Maybe if I talked to the prisoners, I could...."

"No," Avon said firmly. "You are to stay away from the dungeon until I've decided our best course of action."

"Oh!" Tarrant looked a bit abashed. "I forgot something. When I was in the guard room, they talked with someone else over some sort of a box. They were explaining about my illness and asking for instructions. The other voice told them that there weren't any orders covering the situation... that it was good that the Queen was returning soon."

"How soon?"

Tarrant shrugged. "They didn't specify."

#

Avon went to bed pondering the problem of the Queen's return. He didn't need the added complication of her presence when there were still more questions than answers. Furthermore, it was almost a certainty that she would notice any changed behavior in her two noble subjects. Avon was fairly confident that he could maintain his old posture, but young Tarrant was another story. The boy would have to return to his former quiet, stupid self.

The following morning, when Avon fetched their water supplies for the day, he filled Tarrant's jugs from the plumbing in his quarters. He felt a trifle guilty, but rationalized that it was for the young man's own good. He doubted that he could persuade him to consume the tainted water voluntarily. Tarrant was not pliable and had displayed a subdued streak of independence even when drugged.

"You don't have to do this for me," he said when Avon delivered the bottles of water. "I could get my own, even yours."

"We agreed that subtlety was not your strong point," Avon replied easily. "I prefer to handle this particular chore myself rather than risk exposure."

"Have it your way. I certainly don't mind being waited on." Tarrant began to clear his table of a clutter of papers and books. "They're bringing my breakfast. Would you like to stay and eat with me?"

"No. It might be best if we cut back on our socializing. Word could get back to the Queen."

"But the servants already know that we've been spending more time together than before," Tarrant pointed out.

"I've thought of an explanation for that."

Tarrant's brows raised. "Are you going to tell me?"

"No. The less you know the better. If the Queen attempts any suspicious inquiries, you are to answer as vaguely as possible. I've asked you questions which you don't understand or remember. You don't know anything."

"I don't like being kept in the dark. I thought we were working together."

"We are. I will tell you everything you need to know."

Frowning, Tarrant looked like he was going to protest, then he sighed with resignation and asked, "What do you want me to do today?"

"Return to your normal routine as much as possible. If the Queen is due to return, we had best temporarily suspend our investigation."

"Are you sure we just shouldn't ask her outright? I still don't think this is a plot against us. The Queen wouldn't harm m--...us."

Avon shook his head at the boy's faith in their monarch. Even undrugged, Tarrant was such an innocent. "You will not say a word to the Queen!"

"Very well."

#

A few days later, Avon detected the familiar heightened anticipation that usually preceded the Queen's return. Prowling around the rooms adjacent to the kitchen, he overheard mentions of a banquet and that confirmed his suspicions.

Avon's heart beat faster when he went to dinner that evening. Though no official word had been given (which was unusual), he knew the Queen was in residence. She would be joining them, and their countersubterfuge would begin. The operative question being, could they fool the Queen. She was neither stupid nor unobservant. Given his uncertainties, Avon was doubly glad that he had been feeding Tarrant contaminated water. The boy looked suitably docile and dull seated across from him.

When the Queen arrived, he was coaching himself on how he should behave. He needn't have bothered. Her entrance was far from normal. Unheralded, she swept in on a glacial wind, accompanied by eight servants who had their weapons drawn and ready.

"My lords," she said bitterly to the two men, who had scrambled to their feet as she brushed across the threshold. "a matter has recently been brought to my attention that threatens all of our safety. For your own protection, I must insist that you go to your individual quarters and remain there with an escort until I have had a chance to investigate the problem."

"But if you are in danger," Tarrant said, "I don't want you to face it alone."

A fond smile crept over the Queen's lips. "My dear Tarrant, I assure you that I am quite safe. The matter is well in hand. I do appreciate your concern, but there is no time for your childish chivalry."

The boy scowled peevishly but muttered an obedient, "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good." She eyed Avon sharply. "Now if you will go to your rooms, I will clear this up as quickly as possible."

In his sitting chamber, Avon resisted pacing or any other activity that might disclose his internal turmoil. Though panic shrilled through him, allowing that to show might bring suspicion where none existed.

It was almost two hours later that his jangled waiting finally came to an end. The Queen and a stranger in the simplest of white clothing entered his room. The four guards moved discreetly to one side, while retaining their alert status.

"Well, Avon," the Queen purred. "How much do you know?"

"Know about what?" he asked, forcing an easy smile to his lips. "What subject shall we thoroughly discuss this night? I hope it is one that I'm well read on, given your expertise on even the most esoteric topics."

"Oh, Avon. I am disappointed. Surely you know that the game is up." Her eyes blurred momentarily with uncertainty. "Or do you?" It is difficult at times to reconcile the new you to the old you. Perhaps you don't know."

"Don't know what? You are confusing me, my most gracious sovereign."

"I doubt you are quite as confused as you pretend." A brittle, mocking laugh cut briefly through the air and burned a sharp path across Avon's senses. "But I suppose you couldn't be aware of the monitoring or you wouldn't have been so careless."

The Queen edged over to the desk and tapped on the computer console. "This is monitored, of course. Every entry you make is recorded and stored. I went over those files when I returned this afternoon."

That would explain it, Avon realized with desolation. He considered the information that he had tried to pry from the computer. Though it hadn't been helpful, the questions were damning. Candor seemed the only defense available to him. "If I've done wrong, you'll have to forgive me."

"Will I?"

"You must understand that I became agitated to learn...certain things."

"Go on," she said.

"I am a prisoner here," he began. "There is the matter of no remembered past. Not to mention my belief that I am being drugged. You would not expect me to accept that complacently."

"If you had questions, why didn't you ask me?"

"You weren't here," he answered truthfully. "And I'm asking you now."

"Doctor?" the Queen directed the one word to the man in white. The stranger was holding something in his palm, studying it. "There is no doubt that the conditioning is failing. I warned you about the difficulties surrounding your requirements. Retaining the essence of the basic personality while dampening potentially rebellious traits requires a delicacy of tampering that has never been achieved."

"You told me that my goal was attainable," she fumed.

The man cringed slightly as if he was afraid to either admit defeat or promise success. "It will most certainly require another treatment," he said, "a rather extensive one. I'll have to take him to Kirtinia, of course, since you wouldn't allow me to set up a clinic here."

"I will not have my paradise polluted with your obscene equipment and probes."

"Then I will have to take him to Kirtinia," he repeated, "as soon as the magnetic storm subsides enough to allow the ship to launch."

"The storm," the Queen spat out. "I will have to look into climate control for the planet."

"Yes, Madame President."

//President!// Avon caught the word and remembered that Tarrant had mentioned hearing it--in connection with the name Servalan. Could the Queen and this Servalan be the same person? On reflection, it was another connection that he should have made sooner. He was sure he would have if they hadn't ravaged his mind.

"And what am I to do with him in the meantime?" the Queen demanded, though it was unclear whether she was asking the stranger or herself. "I can't let him wander free. Nor do I trust the mutoids to long guard him. He's far too clever for them."

"You could lock him up with the others," the man suggested timidly.

"Won't that complicate the conditioning?"

"No. His memories are fully erased. Nothing they say can retrigger them. It won't make my task any more difficult." he paused a minute then added, "It is your stringent requirements that make my work difficult."

"I will have what I want!"

"Yes...yes, of course," he agreed, backing down. "But you must realize that it will take time. To manipulate a mind to your specifications is no easy task." He frowned for a second before saying with pride, "I do think we've managed to curb Tarrant's wanderlust."

"Tarrant!" The Queen started as if she had just remembered him. She turned to Avon, her eyes commanding and regal. "What has he to do with your suspicions?"

"Lord Tarrant," he scoffed. "Surely you don't think that simpleton capable of any thought beyond what pudding will be served for desert. I did question him," he admitted, "but he was no more helpful than the computer."

"Really? Well, you will understand if I have to verify that for myself."

"My Queen," Avon implored, partly to distract her from Tarrant but also in an attempt to acquire information, "I don't understand. Why are you angry with me? And why have you made me your prisoner?"

She stared suspiciously at him for a long moment then looked to the doctor who answered her questioning gaze with a shrug. Finally, her face softened slightly. "Avon, you won't remember, but I have long found you most intriguing. When I regained my power, it did not bring happiness. There was no challenge, no joy in my life. After much consideration, I decided that you had always been my biggest challenge. I wanted you all to myself. Is that so very terrible, being wanted by your queen?"

"No. But why couldn't it have been truthful...real?"

"In reality," she said, voice sad and low, "you would have killed me."

#

Avon's hands were bound behind his back and his ankles were loosely tethered to each other. With those encumbrances limiting his movements, he didn't resist being led through the castle by the servants...guards. He quickly determined that he was being taken to the dungeon and felt a small curdling of fear. He was going to be locked in with those people who had the advantage of knowing far more about him than he knew about them. Then there was the little matter of his having tried to kill some of them.

Though distracted with worry, Avon watched carefully as his escort operated a series of switches to open the door to the room beyond the monitor. Avon considered it ironic that he now knew how to work the lock, when he would be on the wrong side of it.

"Avon." The smaller man was the first to see him. The guards quickly herded the four prisoners to the far side of the room by brandishing the strange weapons in their hands. With them immobile against the wall, one man freed Avon's bonds. Then the escort swiftly left the room, sealing the door behind them.

"He told us that he was a captive, too," the woman called Dayna said in a manner that suggested doubt on the part of at least one of her companions.

"Unless he's a spy," the other woman noted. "Why put a spy with us?"

This time it was the larger man who spoke; Avon recollected that his name was Blake. "What happened, Avon?"

"I wasn't supposed to know that I was a prisoner in a gilded cage. I inadvertently let slip my suspicions on my computer." He tried to summon a smile to disguise his nervousness and managed a small one. "So now I am here, with you, in a real prison."

"You made a mistake with a computer!" the man with thinning hair exclaimed. "You're slipping."

Avon stiffened then reluctantly admitted, "I have no memory of the man you know as Avon." There no longer seemed reason to hide that. Besides, secured together, they were likely to guess the truth soon enough anyway. "Nor do I remember any of you."

"What?" Blake walked closer, peered into Avon's eyes, and touched his shoulder. "They erased your memories." There was a very sad note to his voice, almost sympathetic.

"I told you he was acting strange," the other man said. "Of course, strange is normal for him." He circled Avon, studying him. "So you don't remember me? Well, I'm Vila."

"Blake," the larger man identified himself, then nodded to each woman in turn. "Dayna, Soolin."

"Welcome to paradise," Vila said ruefully. He slapped his hand against the side of his leg, eyes desolate. Then his shoulders slumped and his entire body seemed to lose the basic energy required to sustain life. Feet scuffing against the floor, he traversed the short distance to the table and dropped into the first chair he contacted.

The room grew momentarily silent, as echoes of unexpressed misery bounced from wall to wall, from person to person. It was like an electrical storm without thunder, lightning or wind. The charged atmosphere expanded until Avon thought the pressure would burst his eardrums. Then as quickly as it had materialized, the aberration dissipated, leaving Avon to wonder if it had been a stress-induced delusion.

"That's the cleansing chamber." Soolin pointed to a door on the far wall. "There's an autolaundry in there as well. I hope you like your pretty clothes, because you aren't likely to get a change." Her face hardened into bitter lines. "At least we never have."

At the woman's words, Avon took a moment to carefully inspect his surroundings. The room was almost stark, with four sets of bunks, two each against opposite walls. The other two walls held the exit and cleansing room doors respectively. The only other furnishings were the table and four chairs. They'd be one chair short now.

"How long have you been held here?" Avon asked, feeling a rise of claustrophobia at everything the room implied.

Blake answered. He was definitely the dominant member of the group. "We've no clock or calendar, but we've tried to keep track. About six months."

"Six months." Avon was sure he would go quite insane in far less time in such tedious surroundings. He considered his length of stay at the castle. "I've been here slightly less than three months. However, I can't completely trust my memory."

"It would make sense that you would arrive after us," Blake reasoned, "if they spent time reconstructing your mind first."

"We were brought here about two months after Gauda Prime," Dayna explained. Her eyes darkened as she added, "Before that we were properly interrogated, of course."

"And you knew me at one time?"

"You might say that." Blake sounded angry. Avon remembered their earlier conversation when Blake said that Avon had shot him. "Though I certainly didn't know you on Gauda Prime."

"Getting into that isn't going to help," Soolin said. She put her hand on Blake's arm. "We need to figure out if Avon's presence is going to benefit us. If only we'd been ready when they opened the door."

"We had no warning." Dayna sighed. She noticed Avon's curious raise of eyebrows and continued. "That's the first time the door has been open since they threw us in here." She walked to the wall near the exit and ran her hand along a rectangular-shaped seam. "They slide us meal trays through this slot."

"They'll have to open the door again, when they come for me," Avon told them, trying to be helpful, not without some selfish motivation. His fate seemed tied to theirs. "They mentioned taking me to 'Kirtinia' for further treatment. A 'magnetic storm' prevented a ship launching," he recited carefully.

"Kirtinia," Blake repeated, rubbing at his chin. "Well, that's something. Kirtinia is in Sector 2. What else can you tell us?"

"I believe the woman you were talking about during my last visit, a President Servalan, is the woman that I know as The Queen. She's never given us a name to put with that title."

"Describe her," Dayna demanded.

"Petite but regal in bearing. Ebony hair... cut short. Flawless complexion."

"That's Servalan," Vila said. "But what's this queen business?"

Avon sat on the side of one of the lower bunks and folded his hands in his lap. "I believe that she's created a world of fantasy as a retreat. She described this castle as a haven from her royal duties."

"And where do you fit into her fantasy?" Blake questioned.

"I'm not sure," Avon replied with a shake of his head. "She called me her challenge."

"The two of you never could decide whether to kill or ravish each other," Vila noted scornfully.

"That's not it at all," Avon denied, insulted by the man's implications. "We do not have a physical relationship. "That's..." He caught himself before revealing that Tarrant was the Queen's lover. No sense being indiscreet. "That's stupid," he finished.

Soolin crouched down beside him, studying him intently. "I still can't quite believe that you don't remember us...or anything. But you do look different, not as foreboding."

"We're going to have to brief each other on pasts and presents," Blake said. "But first, Avon, you wouldn't mind if we had a little private conversation? After all, we can't be sure you are trustworthy."

"Do what you like." Avon stretched out on the bunk and closed his eyes. He heard them move to the far side of the room where they engaged in a muffled conversation. He couldn't make out any of the words and he really didn't care. Before they finished, he had drifted into a black, peaceful oblivion.

#

Avon woke after what felt like a full night's sleep. The others were moving about, involved in what appeared to be a well-established morning routine, taking turns in the cleansing room and straightening the meager bedding on the bunks. Whether the silence was normal or due to his presence, he wasn't sure, but the curious looks that they directed his way made him edgy.

When it appeared that the four of them had finished their morning ablutions, Avon took his turn. The bath was as poorly stocked as he expected, given his companions' unkempt appearances. There wasn't so much as a comb to neaten one's hair, just the basic necessities for cleanliness and a depilatory.

Thankfully, the autolaundry had a small computer-type screen that scrolled out a series of instructions on its use. He had never had occasion, in his limited memories, to use such a contraption. The large serving staff that populated the castle took care of all such chores. His clothing returned clean from the autolaundry but wrinkled. He eyed the once exquisite outfit with distaste before dressing.

On entering the outer room, he saw that Dayna, Blake and Vila were seated around the table. Soolin was on the floor by the door, a food tray in her lap. It reminded Avon that one of them had been in that spot since he'd woke. Listening for the guards returning for him, he presumed.

"Come and have your breakfast," Dayna called to him. "For what it's worth." Vila stared at the food with distaste. Glancing at the display of food, Avon silently seconded Vila's dissatisfaction. Breakfast consisted of some sort of thick crackers and a purplish beverage.

"Sit." Blake patted the empty chair.

Avon sat, tentatively picked up one of the food bars, and raised it to his mouth. "It tastes as dull as it looks," Vila said.

"But it's very nutritious," Blake added. "Don't mind Vila. He's a bit grumpy in the morning. Even a five-course hot breakfast wouldn't improve his mood."

"And do you know why I'm crabby?" Vila asked Avon. "It's because I know I have the whole boring damned day to look forward to before I can escape to sleep again. You'll love it here."

Avon concentrated on the tasteless cracker while Dayna tried to sooth Vila. "We've hope now," she said consolingly. "We know they are going to open the door eventually. We'll get out of here."

"The castle is full of armed servants," Avon warned, thinking that Dayna made escape sound all too easy. "And even if you managed to get past them, where would you go? The castle appears to be in an isolated area. There are no signs of civilization in any direction."

"We'll figure out the details as we go along," Blake answered. "What's important is getting out of this room."

"Do you have any idea what planet we are on?" Dayna asked.

"Planet? I thought Earth." Avon searched his memories, frustrated by his fragmented knowledge. "Space travel...." he finally guessed.

"You didn't know?" Vila said. He sounded both stunned and frightened. "They really did a good one on you."

"Kirtinia...the storm. I thought it was preventing a ship going to sea." He pushed his breakfast plate away, appetite gone. "I've only been given limited information, most of it pertaining to what must be Earth's past. I knew that technology had advanced far beyond what was available in those times. I hadn't realized how far. Space travel."

"I'm sorry," Blake said, sensing his distress. "I know a little of how disoriented you must feel. I was once a victim of Federation mind manipulation myself. It is almost easier not to know the truth than to deal with the confusion of partial reality."

Avon didn't admit to having similar misgivings. Truth, under these circumstances, hadn't brought contentment. It had disrupted what had been an easy and pleasurable life. But that wasn't for Blake to know. Avon felt entirely too vulnerable with these strangers and wasn't about to confess any more weaknesses.

"We'll help you get your memories back," Blake assured him.

"Indeed?" Avon felt a little self-confidence return on hearing Blake's naive promise. The doctor had sounded very definite that his past was gone forever. It reminded Avon that, despite his shattered memories, there were things that he knew that they didn't. They needed him, at least for now. "Well, as you say, getting out of here is our first priority. Perhaps I should describe the layout of the castle. Unless you already are familiar with it."

"We're not," Blake said.

Dayna nodded. "We were drugged when they transferred us from the ship to here."

"Castle," Vila echoed belatedly. "You keep using that word, but I didn't realize. This is an honest-to-goodness castle?"

"Not quite authentic," Avon corrected. "I'd describe it as a modernized replica."

Blake smiled wryly. "Who would have thought that Servalan was a romantic at heart? A castle!" His face grew grim and solemn. "Damn her and her mind games, and what she has done to all of us."

#

They spent the next two days exchanging information. Avon's memory-abbreviated story was far shorter than those of his companions. He listened to their tales of space journeys and sophisticated technology with half disbelief. He didn't quite see himself as a revolutionary, though apparently he hadn't been a particularly willing or eager one. It was almost more of a fairy tale than the Queen's fantasy.

Tarrant would be quite pleased with his own adventuresome past and heroics, if he ever learned of it. Dosing him with the drugged water must have protected him. Since he hadn't joined them in the cell, the Queen must have found him innocent of wrongdoing.

Avon almost envied Tarrant's being in the Queen's favor, even if it was in the role of puppet lover. That pretense, along with his own, were the only realities that either of them knew. Life in this confined dungeon, with four anonymous ghosts from his unremembered past, was unnerving. Though they treated him better than he had expected--given what they had said about their shared history--he was still an outsider. And the unremitting boredom was wearing after the luxuries and diversions of the castle. Yes, young Tarrant might well be the lucky one.

It was the third day of Avon's captivity and Dayna was pacing the room with the restless energy of a caged animal. Avon had quickly determined that the confinement grated more heavily on her than the others, though all of them had periods of understandable crankiness.

"How long can a magnetic storm last?" she asked, irritation brightening her coal-dark eyes.

"Weeks," Blake answered from where he slumped lazily in one of the chairs. "Patience, Dayna."

"I'm trying," she choked out, not bothering to conceal her agitation.

"What about a word game or pantomime?" Soolin suggested, mentioning two of the recreations that helped them pass the time.

Dayna ignored her. "When I get out, I'm going to kill that creature. My father has gone unavenged long enough."

"I hope our main priority will be escape," Soolin said softly.

"Escape...and safety," Vila amended.

Avon scanned his fellow prisoners. "Is she really that evil?"

"How can you ask that?" Blake shot to his feet. "Knowing what she has done to your mind, your memories."

"To be truthful, she was never unkind," Avon answered. "Except for an occasional uneasy feeling, I wasn't uncomfortable in her presence. Of course, considering the lack of stimulating company, even the devil might have been a welcome companion."

Dayna stopped her pacing near where Avon sat. "What about Tarrant? You haven't told us much about him."

"There's not much to tell. From everything you've said, he isn't the man you remember. I really didn't spend any time with him until after I'd determined that the two of us were victims of the same plot. Then working with him became a necessity. Truthfully, I can't picture either of us in the roles you've described."

"I'm not surprised," Soolin said, twirling her long golden braid about one finger. "She's clipped your wings, Avon. You've lost your sharp edges." A rare grin spread across her mouth. "It might actually be an improvement."

Blake looked a bit upset by Soolin's teasings, though they didn't bother Avon. "There is nothing to joke about," the large man scolded. He walked over and put his hand on Avon's shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll find some way to get your memories back."

"I'm not worried," Avon answered honestly. "I hardly miss them." In fact, the pieces of his past that they'd supplied hadn't sounded all that pleasant or noteworthy.

"I understand that," Blake said, voice full of sympathy. "After they conditioned me, I was quite content. It was only after my memories returned that I realized the obscenity of what they had done to me. To take my past and to mold me into a model citizen was ugly enough, without their pretense that my family was still alive and safe. They had given me a sugared, happy world of make believe."

"Perhaps you didn't realize when you were well off," Avon murmured under his breath.

"We will help you," Blake said. But almost immediately he gave his head a sharp shake and walked away, as if he had trouble believing it would be possible to carry out that pledge. "Orac," he muttered, then louder, "I wonder what's become of Orac?"

"If she really did regain the presidency," Dayna speculated, "then she has Orac."

"You're probably right," Soolin agreed. Then turning to Blake she added, "Are we sure we even want Orac back? It seemed to cause more trouble at times than it was worth. If it hadn't prevented Slave from warning us about the gunships that attacked us near Gauda Prime, everything might have turned out differently."

"And Orac was quick to want to sacrifice me over Malodaar." Vila darted a quick, worried glance at Avon as he spoke, then returned his attention to the door, resting his head back so that his ear was very near the food slot.

"We might need Orac to help Avon regain his memories," Blake said. The matter of memories seemed terribly important to him.

"Quiet." Vila held up a hand, shushing them. "I hear something."

The two women immediately sprang to the walls on either side of the entry, looking far more dangerous than their size accounted for. Blake put his bulk square in front of the door. Timid but resolute, Vila scurried next to Dayna.

Determining that the group intended to fight their way free, Avon debated his best course of action. Finally deciding that he couldn't go quietly to the Queen's bidding, he moved next to Soolin and resolved to follow the others' lead.

In the now-quiet room, they could all hear scuffling noises at the threshold. After an eternity-long half minute, the door slid into the wall and one of the guards stumbled inside. Soolin pushed him toward Blake as Dayna pounced on the second figure.

"Tarrant!" Dayna exclaimed, just managing to pull her punch. She stared hard at the resplendent figure. The boy's ornate tunic was a rainbow of shimmering metallic threads, and he wore the jeweled circlet on his head.

Soolin and Blake had already subdued the guard. "Where's his gun?" Soolin asked.

"If a gun is what I think it is," Tarrant replied, edging around the still-frozen Dayna, "it's back in the guard room."

Avon noted a fresh bruise on Tarrant's cheek. The young man was also breathing heavily and a trifle pale. "What are you doing here?"

"I...I was trying to free you," he answered. "I forced him to open the door."

"How did you manage to force a mutoid to do anything?" Blake asked suspiciously. "They are trained to die before disobeying orders."

//Mutoid.// The word rolled in Avon's memory. Servalan had mentioned mutoids.

"It wasn't easy." Tarrant's voice was weary. "I threatened to kill myself. Apparently, that would have provided him with a fate worse than death."

"I was following the Queen's instructions," the mutoid spat out. "Protecting you superseded all other orders. I couldn't allow Urslan to feed on you. Nor could I allow you to harm yourself."

"The other one wasn't quite as concerned with my safety." Tarrant stretched out his left arm. Blood was welling from a small puncture wound in the middle of a discolored area on the back of his hand. "They've some sort of needles; it was drinking my blood."

"That's why the drugged water didn't affect them," Avon realized. "They never drank any."

"So it would seem."

"The only nourishment mutoids require is blood serum," Blake confirmed.

"Hadn't we better start thinking of our next move," Soolin cut in.

"You're right," Blake said, easily taking charge. "Why don't you and Dayna find that guard room and the guns while I get this one secured. Vila, give me your belt."

With everyone else occupied, Avon led Tarrant to one of the chairs. The young man was trembling slightly and not very steady on his feet. "Tell me everything."

The boy tilted his head back, displaying earnest blue eyes. "I overheard the Queen talking to someone. She thought I was asleep. They were going to...to do something more with your mind and memories. I knew you wouldn't want that. I looked for you everywhere and decided you must be here. I had to rescue you."

"I appreciate that," Avon said, his mouth creasing into a slight frown. He wasn't entirely comfortable to be beholden to Tarrant. The boy shouldn't have taken such risks. More than that, how had he succeeded? "How did you best two armed men?" he found himself asking.

"Surprise...luck." Tarrant smiled weakly. "The fact that the one didn't want to hurt me helped."

"I'm impressed that you figured out how to manipulate him," Avon admitted, "especially drugged."

A pink sheen blossomed on Tarrant's cheeks; he looked down at the floor. "I'm not drugged. I didn't drink the water you gave me after we heard the Queen was returning. I recognized the taste and guessed what you were doing."

"Definitely not as stupid as I once assumed," Avon said. "And you managed to fool the Queen."

Tarrant's blush deepened. "I followed your advice. I smiled a lot and talked little. The other wasn't too difficult. She's a very desirable woman."

"The way's clear," Soolin called from the door. "Let's go."

"Avon, you'll have to show us how to get out," Blake said. "Where do you want to go?"

"They must have a ship, a landing field."

"What about the magnetic storm?" Vila asked.

Blake shrugged. "We'll have to risk that."

"I can only get you as far as the castle gate. I don't know where they keep their space-going craft."

"There will be a path or tracks," Blake said.

"Come on," Soolin urged.

Avon pulled Tarrant to his feet. "Are you able to walk?"

"Of course," the young man assured him. "But, Avon, I'm not leaving the castle." He looked frightened and nervous. "I like it here."

Avon well understood Tarrant's hesitation. There was a tugging at his own mind at the thought of leaving the fortress. But he also knew the cause. "That's the mental tampering," he said, "not what you really want or think. You're going with us."

He should have been suspicious when Tarrant didn't argue further, but then he had a tendency to underestimate the boy. When they'd gotten through the kitchens, with Dayna and Soolin efficiently handling the opposition from the staff, Tarrant had disappeared.

Avon swore softly. "Damn him."

"We'll have to leave him," Blake said. "We'll return for him at some future time."

"No," four voices chorused back. Avon was surprised to find himself a member of the majority opinion.

Blake appeared disgruntled. "You know trying to find him could risk everyone's freedom, not to mention our lives."

Pulling herself up straight, Dayna's voice was resolute. "It's a risk that I'm willing to take. Avon, where would he be?"

"I don't know," he admitted. His mind sifted through the most likely possibilities. "We'll check his rooms." He led the way across the dining chamber and into the hall leading to the grand staircase. As he hurried them along, he detected the sounds of other rushed footsteps. "There's too much activity," he warned.

"They must realize we've escaped," Blake said from behind him. "Hurry."

Avon raced into the cavernous foyer that housed the stairway and skidded to a halt. There were armed servants scattered about the room and lining the stairs. His companions tumbled forward into the trap.

"Drop your guns," the imperious voice of the Queen commanded. Her voice echoed in the large chamber, making it difficult for Avon to pinpoint her location. "Drop them now, or I'll order my troops to open fire."

Reluctantly, Vila and Blake then Soolin and Dayna allowed their weapons to clatter to the floor. Avon stubbornly held onto the unfamiliar gun he'd grabbed up after the short battle in the kitchen. "I don't think your guards will hurt me," he called out, recalling Tarrant's experience.

"They won't," the Queen affirmed, "but I will." Something sizzled in the air and a burning brushed across Avon's right wrist. His fingers loosened their grip and the gun slid free. As it clattered against the marble tile, the Queen stepped from behind two of the mutoids. She eased next to Avon and rested her gun against his head. "A valiant try."

Grimacing with pain, Avon stared hard at the blistered skin on his arm. So that was what these guns did to the human body. He stayed carefully still, with the Queen's weapon pressed to his temple.

Blake ran a frustrated hand through his curls. "Servalan, you may as well kill us here. We are not going back to that cell."

"Then you should have kept your guns," she purred. "Surely, Blake, you know that I have complete power over you. I can simply direct my troops to set their weapons on stun. But I'm not positive that's what I want. You annoy me. Perhaps it is best to rid myself of that irritation permanently." Backing up two steps, she looked into Avon's eyes. "I've not yet decided about you either. Is the challenge worth the danger?"

Avon couldn't answer her. In her place, he would have killed her; he was as sure of that as he was unsure of his past.

A malicious smile spread across the Queen's face. "You look frightened, Avon. I like that." Her left hand joined her right on the gun and she struck a pose as if about to unleash its power on him.

Avon turned away, unable to stomach the sadistic gleam in her eyes. A movement high above them, on the balcony surrounding the stairwell, attracted his attention. As he focused on the spot, he saw Tarrant drawing back the string of a longbow. "No," he yelled as an arrow darted forth.

"I think...." The Queen cut off in mid sentence and turned to see what had caused Avon to shout. A second later there was a dull thud. From the corner of his eye, Avon could see that Servalan was falling to the floor.

"Guns," Blake cried.

Avon spun about to fully face the Queen. An arrow was buried in her chest; blood marred her white gown.

Small explosions sounded all around him, but Avon ignored them. He crouched beside the Queen, strangely torn as he looked at the very still figure. Perhaps he couldn't have killed her outright after all.

"No...no...," Avon heard Tarrant whimper as he fell to his knees next to him. The longbow was clutched in his hand. "I didn't want to hurt her. I only wanted to scare her so that she'd let you go. She...she moved as I loosed the arrow. She'll be all right, won't she?" His eyes begged for an answer that Avon wasn't able to give him.

"Your Majesty!" Tarrant grasped her shoulders and pulled her toward him. "Someone get help."

Avon took her wrist and fumbled for a pulse. As he had expected, there was none to be found. "She's dead," he said softly, surprised by the sadness that swept through him.

"Remember, I asked for a sword," the boy choked out, his face pressed into the Queen's short thatch of raven hair. "She didn't give me one. But she gave me this." He shook the bow. "I've been practicing. It was to defend her," his shrill voice cried in protest and desolation, "not to hurt her."

Avon glanced around. None of the mutoids were aiming at them, still following the Queen's orders to keep them safe, but the others were in the midst of a fierce battle and had taken refuge in side corridors.

"We've got to get out of here." Avon pulled at Tarrant's arm, knowing that they could easily be harmed by accident in the crossfire.

Tarrant steadfastly resisted Avon's tuggings. "I've killed her," he said in a voice devoid of emotion. "I've killed the Queen."

"No," Avon said sharply. He circled his left hand around the young man's shoulders and gave him a soft shake, trying to force him to see the truth. "She wasn't the Queen; she was the dragon."

Avon gave up attempting to persuade Tarrant to move. He sat with his arm about him until the gun noise finally trailed off. In the first moments of silence, Avon realized that it didn't matter which side had won, not for him and Tarrant. The only world they knew had died with the dragon.

the end


End file.
